


A Female Perspective on Music Theory and Mixtape Development

by Yellow_Bird_On_Richland



Series: It's different and it's working, oh, you make me nervous (the Annie/Britta AU Collection) [4]
Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Britta Perry, Established Annie/Britta Relationship, Eventual Trobed (background), F/F, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Maybe some angst, Season 3 and Season 4 AU, Songfic, lesbian Annie Edison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25872748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yellow_Bird_On_Richland/pseuds/Yellow_Bird_On_Richland
Summary: Annie had always figured that burning a mixtape for a significant other would involve meticulously crafting a perfectly balanced blend of classic orchestral love songs, current pop offerings from the likes of Taylor Swift and Ed Sheeran, and soaring ballads.But she's found out, quite quickly, that it doesn't.Then again, Annie had also always assumed that her significant other would be a man, so maybe it's okay that the whole process is working out differently than she'd envisioned.
Relationships: Annie Edison/Britta Perry, Troy Barnes/Abed Nadir
Series: It's different and it's working, oh, you make me nervous (the Annie/Britta AU Collection) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1835497
Comments: 20
Kudos: 51





	1. Intro/Punk Rock Princess by Something Corporate

**Author's Note:**

> So this is going to sort of be a songfic, but maybe not in a traditional sense? There will be a guiding song for each chapter, but there won't always necessarily be super obvious references or allusions to the music; I selected some songs because their energy matched the vibe or actions of a scene more than anything. I tried to include a blend of music that Annie might like, as well as songs she'd think Britta would like.
> 
> Outside of the intro to Chapter 1 and the end of the final chapter, each section of this fic will be a snapshot or a filling in the gaps, so to speak, of the timeframe in this series/AU where Annie and Britta get together and are in a long-term relationship beginning in season 3. So, these flashbacks will take place roughly during seasons three and four. It ignores Troy and Britta "dating," and Troy and Abed eventually end up together, instead. Pierce doesn't really exist here, either.

Annie had always figured that burning a mixtape for a significant other would involve meticulously crafting a perfectly balanced blend of classic orchestral love songs, current pop offerings from the likes of Taylor Swift and Ed Sheeran, and soaring ballads.

But she's found out, quite quickly, that it doesn't.

After all, she was putting the finishing touches on a mixtape, one of her one-year anniversary gifts for Britta, and she couldn't spot a truly traditional love song anywhere on it.

None of the mixes Britta had made for her featured any, either. But the tracks on all of them, ranging from indie acoustic songs like "To Be With You" by The Honey Trees to the more alt-rock energy of "Piano Fire" by Sparklehorse, always spoke to their adventures together and thrilled Annie as if they were carrying on with a secret love affair, even though they'd told the group they were dating pretty early on in their relationship.

" _I like our songs better this way, though, with not picking standard, generic numbers that any couple might have for each other,"_ she thought, shivering slightly against the chill of the crisp morning—the first of November—and pulling on Britta's Sonic Youth sweatshirt that she, as usual, had left on the foot of Annie's bed, rather than putting it away in the comfy clothes drawer of her dresser. _"After all, there isn't really anything traditional about us. It's not like the Hallmark Channel will ever make a Christmas movie about a semi-neurotic former Adderall addict and her ex-anarchist, atheist, rescue-cat-loving girlfriend."_

She chuckled lightly to herself at the image and, after reviewing the track order in Windows Media Player again, clicked "Play," allowing the first song to transport her back to when part of the group learned about her and Britta being together during last Thanksgiving.

**

"So we're in complete agreement," Jeff confirmed with the rest of the car. "If Shirley ever invites us to her house again for Thanksgiving, we are _absolutely_ sneaking a flask in."

"Yes," Annie, Abed, and Troy chorused while Britta responded with, "Duh-doy."

"The food was great, though," he added charitably, and they could all agree with that sentiment, too.

"Also, why did we even carpool? All four of you were already hanging at the apartment," Jeff pointed out. "I should've just headed over there on my own and I could've left earlier."

"Well, we were on your way," Troy reminded him, and Britta followed up by chiming in, " _Some_ of us are trying to save the Earth from unnecessary pollution, Jeff."

He scoffed. "Please, Britta. You just don't want to drive anywhere because you can barely afford gas and your car is basically a hunk of scrap metal."

Annie gasped. "Don't insult Travis like that!"

Jeff smirked at Britta. "You named your car?"

She rolled her eyes. "No. That would be Annie's doing."

"If guys can have names for their...things, then I don't get what's so weird about naming a car," she protested.

"What a Thanksgiving it's been, folks," Jeff commented as he pulled up to apartment 303.

"You're welcome to come up and chill with us for a while if you want," Troy offered.

"We might play Ticket to Ride," Annie mentioned excitedly.

"And, to adhere to weird American television tradition, I'm yielding TV use for whatever football game is on tonight," Abed commented.

"So I get to spend even more time with all you nerds?" Jeff joked.

" _Then again, that's less sad than going home and doing nothing for the rest of the night,"_ he thought.

"Screw it, I'm in," Jeff declared. "As long as you've got some booze around."

Annie snorted. "You do realize Troy, Abed, and I are in our early twenties, right?"

Jeff high-fived her in approval. "Good answer, Edison."

**

Troy's highly unlikely Ticket to Ride victory gave way to everyone half-watching the late-night Bears-Vikings game, which devolved into a casual party and a game of Never Have I Ever to appease Abed's need to expunge "play a stupid drinking game off campus" out from his Greendale bucket list.

"And everyone knows what a party needs," Britta cajoled the group, trying and failing to wiggle her eyebrows.

"I'm expecting you might say weed," Abed answered.

"Pizza!" Troy and Annie called out.

"Better scotch," Jeff responded.

"Nope." Britta triumphantly pulled her iPod free from her back pocket. "Music!"

"As long as you don't play Roxanne again, I'm fine with whatever," Jeff commented with a dismissive wave.

Annie approached Britta and asked hopefully, "Mind if I take a look at what you've got on there?"

"Go right ahead," Britta offered as she plugged it into the iPod speaker dock.

Troy squinted at them. "Are you already wasted off, like, two drinks, Britta? Because you usually never let anyone else choose your music."

"No," Britta defended herself, going over to the fridge to retrieve another beer. "It's just that...it's Thanksgiving…so I'm _giving_ someone a chance to pick from my awesome music to the party. Unlike the pilgrims, who only gave smallpox blankets to the Native Americans. Take that, Columbus!" She beamed at her not-so-well proven point before stepping back to where the speaker was housed.

"Actually, if you don't mind, Annie, if I could just see my iPod for a second…" Britta gently moved Annie aside and scrolled into her playlists section. "Ok, feel free to pick from there!"

Annie giggled at one of the titles. "You have a playlist called Punk Rock Princess?"

"So what if I do?" Britta challenged her. "You named an inanimate object, like, a month ago. At least I made this when I was in high school." Her face fell as she realized that wasn't the smartest thing to share with the group.

"Oh, I am _definitely_ putting this on, then," Annie laughed as she started the playlist and turned the volume up a couple notches.

Surprisingly, most of the hits from the likes of Sum 41, Gob, and Something Corporate held up pretty well. Even Jeff joined in for the sing-along to "The Middle," and Britta thought to herself, _"Maybe letting Annie control my iPod once in a while isn't such a bad thing."_

_**_

After a few more rounds of Never Have I Ever passed by uneventfully, Abed claimed, "Never have I ever kissed either of the girls in the group."

Troy exclaimed, just after he finished off a PBR, "That's a load of crap, you totally kissed Annie that one time during paintball."

Abed shook his head. "That was Han kissing Leia. Doesn't count."

Jeff muttered to Troy, "We're being unfairly targeted," before turning to Abed, demanding to know, "What happened to bros before hoes?"

He half-expected Britta to react to that with a burst of fiery resentment, but she was too busy having a silent conversation with Annie.

Britta gave a half-shrug at Annie, seemingly saying, _"We could just...not drink. I don't think anyone knows about us."_

Annie considered that, and a few months ago, she would've agreed entirely with Britta's plan.

" _As of a few months ago, you also wouldn't have kissed Britta at all, so it would be a moot point,_ " she wryly commented to herself. But between their first kiss and subsequent first make-out session from earlier in November, the not-a-date-date they'd enjoyed at Barnes and Noble last weekend, and her ever-increasing comfort with identifying as a lesbian, Annie found that she didn't really give a shit if the guys all knew.

If anything, she'd have a hell of a time one-upping Jeff with this little tidbit of information.

" _Easy, girl. That's probably the beer talking,"_ she rationalized. And maybe the background music, too. All the early to mid-2000s pop-punk from Britta's playlist had Annie feeling like the protagonist of a cookie-cutter college-kid movie, and she'd recently gotten the hot blonde wrapped around her finger.

Or maybe it would be more accurate to say they were tangled up in each other. Because the shifty grin that came over Annie's face, the smirk at her own thoughts? That was all Britta's influence. Annie cocked her head to the side before lifting her eyebrows to convey to her, _"Fuck it. I'm game if you are."_

Britta's smile back was all teeth, as if to say, _"Hell, yeah. Let's make this good_."

For a second, they thought they might not have to drink at all, given Jeff and Troy's continued protests against Abed, but Jeff finally yielded, groaning, "Alright, alright, we'll drink. Cheers, man." He clinked his mason jar of wine against Troy's fresh can of PBR.

Abed repeated triumphantly, "Just as I said before, never have I ever kissed any of the girls in the study group."

While he relished his victory, Britta silently pointed at the bottle of Jack Daniels at the middle of the table and, after Annie nodded, quickly poured each of them a shot, passing one over to her.

"What are you guys doing?" Troy, Jeff, and Abed all asked suspiciously, regarding them with varied degrees of confusion.

Annie kept her eyes focused on Britta, on the pink flush of her cheeks, on the pink of her lips ( _God,_ those sweet, soft, lush lips; she understood now, to some degree, why Jeff had lusted after Britta so shamelessly following their first kiss). Neither one of them answered the boys' shared question, but she did notice their collective gaze fall on the two of them as they clinked the glasses together. Annie willed herself to not burst out laughing at the sudden hush that settled over the table as she and Britta threw back their shots and slammed their glasses down.

Jeff, Troy, and Abed gaped at each other for a solid minute, mouths open like they were Magikarps gasping for air. Jeff was the first to regain some rudimentary control over the English language. "WHAT? When…how?” he murmured, sounding like a punch-drunk boxer.

Annie put on her best educator voice. “Well, as you know, I’m a lesbian, and Britta’s bi, Jeff, so…” Annie shrugged before turning back to Britta. “I think that’s about all the explanation their brains can handle at the moment.” Even Abed, who normally saw plot twists coming from streets ahead, seemed stunned by this turn of events.

“Totally agree, _babe_ ,” Britta drawled, drawing out the last word and cracking up as the boys lost their minds all over again.

 _“This definitely wasn’t how we planned to tell_ _them,”_ Annie thought as she and Britta high-fived, _“but with Britta, I don’t really mind going off-script.”_


	2. Kiss Me Like It's Christmas by This Century

Annie forgot, sometimes, that her girlfriend was born in the 80s, but she's usually reminded of it when Britta straight-up calls her without any sort of five minute courtesy warning via text.

"Hey, Britts," she answered after retreating to her bedroom; Abed was watching the latest episode of Mad Men and didn't appreciate being disturbed.

"Annie! Let's go rinking next weekend!" Britta enthused. "Or the weekend after that. Just, like, before Christmas, okay? Whenever your work schedule allows."

Annie frowned. "Just a sec-what's rinking? Is that slang for drinking and I'm just too lame to know?"

"No, silly. It means ice skating. As in, going to the ice rink. Hence, rinking," Britta explained.

"Why didn't you just say that?" Annie chuckled.

"I came across the term in this book I'm reading and it sounded kind of charming," Britta pouted. "Anyway, are you up for it?"

"I don't know," Annie admitted. "I'm not the most graceful ice-skater, though I can at least keep my balance."

" _Still, it would be a cute date,"_ she reasoned. _"The kind I've never enjoyed before, getting to hold my girlfriend's hands to stay warm while the snow falls and we get hot cocoa."_

(Annie wonders, idly, if the glow she feels in her chest when she calls Britta her girlfriend will ever fade, and desperately hopes it won't.)

As if she was honing in on Annie's thoughts, Britta acknowledged, "I know I'm not usually one for outright cute dates, but...I thought ice skating would be a nice winter activity. Certainly better than unexpectedly getting in a massive snowball fight like we all did a couple years ago, even if it was to stand up for Abed."

"For sure," Annie chuckled. "And you've got me convinced, it sounds like a good time. Could we schedule it for the Saturday just after winter break starts, babe?"

"Yes, definitely!" Britta replied, the holiday cheer in her voice evident. "Oh, and before we go, we have to get you a pair of jeans."

"Wait, what? Why?" Annie asked, utterly confused as to the connection between the two events. "You know I don't like them, Britta."

"Well, your other option is wearing snow pants that will make you look like the Michelin Man. Even if you wear tights, you'll still be freezing with your legs all exposed in one of your usual skirts, and I'm not letting my girlfriend turn into a popsicle," Britta commented. "Besides, I can help you pick out a good pair. So, before we go ice skating...mall trip?" she questioned hopefully.

Annie _did_ appreciate that her girlfriend was making the suggestion out of concern, so she agreed, only a tiny bit reluctantly, "Mall trip."

**

"Can I ask you a fashion question, as a jeans enthusiast to...whatever you identify as, as my opposite?" Britta pondered aloud as she and Annie linked arms easily after entering Kohl's.

"Go for it," Annie answered; she knew what her girlfriend's question would be, based on the framing.

"How do you not like wearing jeans? They're, like, such a versatile clothing option," Britta argued. "They can be casual or more classy, they work with a variety of tops, and they come with pockets. Pockets, Annie!"

"I don't know," Annie muttered. "It's just...I never looked good in them as a kid. I don't think I could pull them off like you do. Your legs are longer than mine, and that factor, combined with the high boots you're fond of wearing…" she blushed and trailed off as Britta smirked at her.

"I didn't know you had so many thoughts about just how great my legs look," Britta observed, still wearing a devilish grin.

"Oh, shut up." Annie playfully elbowed her in the ribs. "You know I already can't get enough of you."

"Yeah, but I still love hearing you say it," Britta murmured throatily, cutting to the side, away from the main aisle of the women's section, pulling Annie with her for a quick flurry of half-breathless kisses.

"So...you think you can find something I'll be able to tolerate for an afternoon?" Annie asked after a pause, lost in a bit of a daze; Britta's impulsive, unexpected kisses tended to have that effect on her.

"Absolutely." Britta's confidence and certainty reassured Annie, but she also felt a warm rush of gratitude for her understanding when she added, "But if you don't find anything you like after a few searches, we can forget it and just get you snow pants, if you want; I'm not gonna make you wear something you hate."

"Thanks, Britta," Annie answered as they found the pants section. She glanced at her girlfriend uncertainly. "Umm, to be honest, I'm not sure what I should really be looking for, in terms of style, or color, or...anything," she confessed.

"First things first, you definitely want a dark blue color," Britta replied. "Wearing light blue jeans is acceptable if you're a parent or if you're attending a 90s party. Otherwise, stay away from 'em. And since you're…" she frowned as she looked Annie up and down. "What, 5'2?"

"Excuse you, I'm 5'3," Annie responded indignantly.

Britta rolled her eyes. "How dare I forget that one extra inch, right?" she responded teasingly. "Anyway, you're still definitely petite, so a straight-leg cut would work," Britta noted, inspecting a couple of stacks. "And they'd give an illusion of lengthening your legs. I'd say you could pick your size out of these two bunches here and find at least one good option."

"Okay," Annie nodded, grateful for the direction. She chose three different brands of straight cut jeans to try on and carried them in her arms to the nearest dressing room with Britta trailing a bit behind her.

"So, do I get a fashion show?" Britta asked, a hint of a smirk playing on her lips.

Annie rolled her eyes and drawled, "I _suppose_ I can indulge you, unless the pants are just ridiculously uncomfortable or a bad fit," drawing a small fist pump from Britta.

Still, as she stepped into the dressing room, Annie couldn't help but smile at Britta's request. While she occasionally earned her reputation as a buzzkill, and her random tangents about third-world politics could be challenging to follow (and sometimes inaccurate), she also had a fun, playful side to her.

" _It's just reserved a little bit for me compared to the rest of the group,_ " Annie happily reasoned.

She discarded the first pair she tried on without even bothering to model them for Britta, as they were much too large, despite ostensibly being in her size. The second pair felt decent, but not great, and Britta's muted reaction matched Annie's own feelings.

The third pair she tried on, though, didn't feel like the previous two. In a positive way, in a way that she normally didn't associate with jeans at all.

"This pair actually feels really good. Like, even better than the last one," she remarked to Britta as she stepped out of the dressing room. "They're not too tight, but they're not loose, either, and the fabric is really comfy."

"Awesome! They look great on you. Now, turn around and lift your dress up a little, lemme make sure the fit's good in the back," Britta instructed her, twirling her finger.

"Someone admiring the view?" Annie asked, blushing at her own quiet moment of bravery as she tossed her hair over her shoulder, struck a pose, and blew Britta a kiss.

"Duh doy, Annie," Britta answered with a grin. "You're absolutely rocking those jeans, your legs look fabulous. Wanna buy 'em?"

"Yeah, for sure," she nodded.

"Hey, what brand are they?" Britta called to her after she'd retreated to the dressing room.

"Umm…" Annie checked the tag on the back after she'd taken them off. "Apartment 9."

"Cool," Britta replied. As they exited the dressing room, she grabbed another pair of jeans from the Apartment 9 stack.

"What's that for?" Annie asked.

"Just 'cause," Britta shrugged. "If you end up liking jeans a little more, then you won't wear one pair out too quickly."

"I'm not sure if I'm ready to go that far, but I'll happily accept the gift. And for being someone who hates corporate America, you sure know your way around a department store," she commented, half-joking.

"Actually, I'll have you know I'm subverting the patriarchy _and_ capitalism," Britta declared proudly. "Because the whole point of the fashion industry is to make women like us hate ourselves for failing to achieve impossible beauty standards and then buy more junk in a destructive, never-ending quest to meet those standards. But we're leaving today having bought only what we came for, at a very reasonable…" she checked the receipt as they exited Kohl's. "Thirty-six dollars and eighty-four cents. Not bad at all for two pairs of jeans that accentuate your figure while also being comfortable. And they'll give me peace of mind that you won't turn into an icicle when we go ice skating," she added.

"My retail hero," Annie murmured fondly, linking her arm through Britta's and tugging her close for a gentle kiss when they got to her car.

**

Between the end of the fall semester and the insanity that was the Christmas pageant, Annie was extremely grateful to have her and Britta's ice-skating date circled on her calendar as the first event of winter break. She'd just finished running a pair of scissors through the ribbon on Britta's surprise non-denominational holiday present when the blonde arrived. Annie hadn't planned on getting her an extra gift, but when she saw it at Target during one of her, Troy, and Abed's recent grocery runs, she couldn't resist.

To her surprise, Britta turned up at her door holding a small package of her own, gift-wrapped a little less neatly than Annie's, but wrapped, nonetheless.

"Britta!" Annie exclaimed. "You didn't have to get me anything."

"Look who's talking, Stephen Hawking," Britta answered with a grin. "And I know we already had our non-denominational holiday party as a group," she offered shyly, "but I hadn't had the chance to finish this for you before then."

She gazed on eagerly as Annie tore the wrapping paper apart with childlike glee.

"I made you a mixtape," Britta murmured, as if it's not obvious from the blank CD or the hand-written track-listing shoved into the empty half of the CD case. "I tried to go with a blend of some of my favorites, plus some newer stuff I thought you might like, but if you don't, it's not, like, a big deal or…" Annie interrupted her self-effacing commentary with a kiss; despite her cynical, jaded worldview, Britta cares deeply about these kinds of things. Of getting good gifts for zany, half-invented holidays, of making sure people feel seen and valued, and Annie appreciates it more than she can say.

"I'm sure I'll like it," Annie responded. "I trust your ear for music, Britta." She passed her gift over. "Your turn."

Britta ripped into the wrapping paper and gave a gasp of delight upon uncovering her present. " _Annie_ ," she whispered, holding up a forest green sweater with a cat wearing a Santa hat on it. The phrase "Meowy Christmas" was emblazoned and centered just beneath the cat in cursive. "This is awful-but I mean that in the best way," Britta added. "I _love_ it!"

"Figured you might," Annie replied brightly. "So, shall we set off on our adventure?"

"We shall," Britta affirmed, taking Annie's hand in hers as they left the apartment.

**

After Annie took the ice and managed a first few strides, she found it a bit difficult to concentrate on keeping her balance, even with having Britta there to cling onto for support.

" _That might be part of the problem,"_ Annie thought. While Britta was hardly wearing anything all that noteworthy-just one of her ever present black leather jackets, washed-out gray jeans, and a sky-blue Colorado Avalanche hoodie that made her pink cheeks and red lips pop even more than usual, especially in the frigid winter air-she still had no trouble at all catching Annie's eye; despite Britta's insistence that she actually spent a good fifteen to twenty minutes or so doing her makeup most days, Annie thinks she's discounting her natural beauty.

(Between her work schedule and the insanity that has been junior year thus far at Greendale, Annie somehow hasn't gotten a chance to sleep over with Britta yet, and she really wants to correct that missing part of the whole "having a gorgeous girlfriend" experience over winter break.)

In what would most likely be a failed attempt to distract herself from staring at Britta and busting her ass in a spectacular tumble to the ice, Annie asked, through slightly chattering teeth, "Where'd this phrase 'rinking' come from, babe?"

"It's from The Paying Guests, it's assigned reading for my British Lit elective," Britta responded as she wobbled on her skates for a second before clutching Annie's hand tighter. "It's about this family, or, rather a mother and daughter trying to make ends meet in 1920s post World War One England, by converting their mansion into a home for a couple of renters. It's really intriguing," she went on, "there's a lot of commentary about the domestic sphere and the valuation of work in the home and the blend of awkwardness and intimacy that arises from two distinct groups of people sharing a home…" cold air rose in plumes off of Britta's breath as she spoke, then paused. "I'm sorry, I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"Yes," Annie nodded as they carefully navigated their way around a family of four. "But I like listening. And it's interesting, thinking about all these angles framed in the context of families trying to survive after the war."

"Yeah, exactly!" Britta exclaimed, her eyes gleaming bright like the ice, like the sun reflected in the snow drifts that had piled up around the rink. She was more of a nerd than she let on to the rest of the group, but she actually had a pretty keen mind and an attractive passion for literature, Annie had found. And when Britta sometimes got sidetracked by her own thoughts, Annie could help get her back on track. "So, where does rinking come in?" she prompted her.

Britta gave her head a little shake. "Right. Anyway, I don't want to spoil it, in case you want to borrow the book after I'm done. But these two characters decide to go roller-skating on a whim and realize it's an activity that has a lot of secret intimacy, I want to say. Holding hands, brushing knees and legs, stuff like that. It...it made me want that with you," she murmured softly, the pink in her cheeks deepening at her confession.

"Well, this was a lovely idea," Annie replied, leaning into Britta as an icy wind whipped through both of them. "Being physically connected with you…" she paused, wondering if she was on the verge of oversharing when Britta looked down at her and nodded with a knowing gaze of fondness. "It makes me feel more alive," Annie admitted. "It's like I'm seeing the world in extra-crisp, bright color, but everything's also a little blurry, because part of me always wants to focus on you."

Britta suddenly swung around in a half-circle on the ice so she was facing in front of Annie before putting her hands on her waist and slowly leaning towards her. "Funny you should say that," she whispered. "I didn't know how to say it, but those feelings made me worry I was kinda going crazy."

Annie's pretty sure she gets a taste or two of a snowflake in their kiss, and a couple of ice crystals definitely drip from Britta's eyelashes onto her face. She's not the biggest fan of Hallmark Channel Christmas movies or holiday romance novels anymore, but goddamn if it doesn't feel like she's the leading lady in one right now. Or, more accurately, one of the leading ladies.

She practically laughs into Britta's mouth as she realizes they'd played out the plot of so many B-rated holiday films already: guy kisses two girls and a love triangle ensues. Except Annie's never seen one where the girls end up together.

" _Take that, Jeff,"_ she murmured smugly to herself.

"What is it?" Britta asked curiously as they broke apart.

Annie shook her head and actually laughed just before resting her mittened hands over Britta's. "Just thinking about holiday movie tropes. And speaking of holiday movies, Abed is insisting we watch Die Hard sometime over break."

"I may need to be boozed up a little for that, but I'd be game," Britta replied before lowering her voice and adding, "I'd also be more amenable to movie time with Abed if you could spend a few nights over with me while we're off from school."

"You know, I think that can be arranged," Annie parried back throatily before she and Britta jointly shivered at the increasingly blustery wind sent snow dancing through the air. "Also, I think we should get hot chocolate."

"Yeah, I'm numb in too many places right now," Britta quickly agreed. "Do you want some of my whipped cream, babe?" she asked after they'd gotten their drinks at the heated pavilion next to the rink; they'd learned the hard way during a dessert night at apartment 303 that Annie having her own serving of whipped cream didn't end well.

"Ooh, yes, please," she hummed, taking a sip of Britta's beverage, basking in the ambience of the pre-Christmas atmosphere: the sparkling red and green lights, the snow falling outside, the excited chatter of children, the heady scent of hot cocoa in the air. She'd always conjured up those elements when she'd fantasized about going on this date with Troy or one of the other popular guys in high school.

Having Britta next to her is better, though. There's no way any of her adolescent objects of affection could possibly compete with her.

"Hey, what is it?" Britta asked, smiling a little at Annie's slightly vacant, dreamy expression.

She swallowed down the three words that felt a little too soon to share and instead leaned forward to plant a hot chocolate-laced kiss on Britta's forehead.

**

With Britta spending a few days of winter break at home and Annie picking up some extra hours at Whole Foods, the two of them didn't have the chance to connect in person for a bit, and Britta's parents were apparently doing some weird tech cleanse. So Annie got to know her girlfriend even better through her mixtape, enjoying the staccato piano trills of Regina Spektor's "Us" and the summery guitar strumming of This is Ivy League's "London Bridges" while she made vegetarian lasagna.

Per Britta's guidance, Annie didn't listen to the entire mixtape at once, instead letting it "marinate" and "simmer" over the course of several days (she wasn't sure about the verbiage, but those were the exact terms Britta had used). She thought about listening to the final track on her way to work, but decided she'd rather enjoy the experience and took the CD out of her car when she got home from work. After she'd gotten changed, Annie popped it into her laptop, pulled up Windows Media Player, and plugged in her earbuds.

The plucky acoustic guitar that greeted her ears seemed a nice antidote to the frosty weather outside, and a woman started singing along to the instrumental.

_This is the first day of my life_

_Swear I was born right in the doorway_

_I went out in the rain_

_Suddenly, everything changed_

_They're spreading...blan-kets on the beach_

The woman's voice came out as a warble in some spots, but there was a tenderness to her soft-spoken tone that Annie found endearing.

" _Wait…"_ she frowned after a second and checked the track listing Britta had given her with the CD. _"Doesn't Bright Eyes have a frontman?"_

It hit her when the next lyrics came in.

_Yours is the first face that I saw_

_Think I was blind before I met you_

The realization almost makes Annie forget how to breathe.

This isn't just some random girl covering First Day of My Life.

This is _Britta_ singing First Day of My Life to her.

Her singing voice isn't classically trained or anything, but it's genuine, and passionate, and beautiful, like the rest of her, and Annie loses herself in its messy perfection. She even sheds a couple of happy tears at the sheer sincerity and earnest hopefulness that Britta conveys, at how she can practically hear her girlfriend's smile in her slightly halting delivery during the last two or three lines:

_Besides, maybe this time is different..._

_I mean, I really think you like me-eee-eee-eee-eee_

_Ooh, ooh, mmhmm_

As the acoustic guitar faded out, Britta's voice cut in.

"Hey, Annie. Hope you liked this mixtape. If you want me to burn you any more, I'd love to do that. Merry...shit. I mean, happy non-denominational holiday! You're the best girlfriend ever."

"Aww," Annie murmured tenderly.

She was on the verge of texting Britta when a better idea popped into her head. She quickly dialed Britta's number and called it.

"Annie?" Britta answered, clearly thrown by the unexpected phone call.

"Hey, Britta. I just wanted to tell you…" Annie took a deep breath, summoned her courage, and sang, in response to the last track on the mixtape, "I swear this time is different, I mean, I really, really like you-ooo-ooo-ooo."

"You finished the mixtape!" Britta exclaimed. "Did you enjoy it?"

"Yes. Especially that Bright Eyes cover you did."

"I'm so glad, because I was fucking terrified when I decided to include that."

"You didn't need to be, darling," Annie murmured. "You know I'm mad for you."

"That feeling is _very_ mutual," Britta agreed in a low purr.

Figuring one good impulsive turn deserved another, Annie asked, before she could overthink it, "Can I stay over with you tomorrow night when you're back at your place?"

"Duh doy, yes, absolutely! I might need to do some cleaning before you arrive, but-"

"I don't give a shit," Annie interrupted, half-breathless at what was, for her, a pretty daring move, to invite herself to sleep over with her girlfriend with no real prior planning. And normally, she'd prefer giving her host some time to tidy up, but... "I mean, I do, but I just want to see you, Britta. And spend the night with you and wake up together in the morning. All the other stuff is background noise."

"Okay," Britta breathed back, as Annie's excitement and rashness seemed to stun her a little, too. "Well, you know my address. Come over after you get out of work tomorrow, Annie."

"Thanks, babe," Annie responded warmly. And as she hung up, she thought, _"Maybe there is something to be said for using your phone as a phone, after all."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book Britta references is The Paying Guests by Sarah Waters--I highly, highly recommend it. Features intrigue, womanly romance, and commentary on classism and gender roles in 1920s post-war England.
> 
> Also, these are the songs I imagined Britta would put on a mixtape for Annie:
> 
> Untitled by Interpol
> 
> Train in Vain by The Clash
> 
> Us by Regina Spektor
> 
> She’s Enough by Atmosphere
> 
> Piano Fire by Sparklehorse
> 
> I Bet You Look Good On the Dance Floor by Arctic Monkeys
> 
> Weird Fishes/Arpeggi (live from The Basement) by Radiohead
> 
> London Bridges by This Is Ivy League
> 
> To Be With You by The Honey Trees
> 
> First Day of My Life by Bright Eyes


	3. Candy by Paolo Nutini

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set sometime in February of season 3, I think; basically, Annie and Britta have been together for around 3-4 months in this scene.
> 
> Angst/fears/insecurities/Annie’s generalized anxiety incoming, but with a happy ending.

She found Britta perched on the hood of her car in the pouring rain, with mascara and tear tracks running down her face, her blonde hair a wild tangle of soaking wet curls that were almost freezing solid in the biting February air.

"Oh, _now_ you bother coming to my aid. Thanks, hon," Britta snarked at her, glaring through her tears.

"Britta, babe, what's wrong?" Annie panted, having had to almost run to catch up with her girlfriend. She registered an ominous, altogether unpleasant chill in Britta's words that had little to do with the weather. "You rushed out of our study session really quickly."

She gave a short bark of a laugh. "Well, I bombed _another_ psych quiz, my own goddamn name continues to be shorthand for fucking up in our friend group, and you apparently don't have anything to say to any of them about that second point. Take your fucking pick of what's wrong for me right now, Annie."

"I didn't hear them, I didn't notice it," Annie protested weakly, and she registered, dimly, that she'd made an Abed-level social error as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

"Oh, that's just _great_ ," Britta assured her sarcastically, her voice dripping with acidic derision, "I feel so much better knowing that my schtick in the group is to be the screw-up, to the point that my girlfriend doesn't even register that that's happened." She shrugged off Annie's light, hesitant touch on her shoulder as she hopped off the hood of her car, wrenched the driver side door open, got in, and slammed it shut.

"Britta, I'm sorry!" Annie shouted desperately at her closed window.

Britta rolled down her window, held Annie's gaze for a second, and muttered brusquely, "I know you are, but I just need some time by myself. Talk to you tomorrow."

She peeled out of the parking lot with even less caution than usual, leaving Annie to whisper in her head, _"It's alright. You just had a fight with your girlfriend. The world isn't ending."_

The clap of thunder, roaring wind, and the mixed downpour of snow, sleet, and rain begged to differ.

Annie thought she'd felt the height of collegiate emotional pain (or semi-collegiate, at least; where else is a four-year community college a thing?) when Jeff had turned her down all summer after freshman year and unequivocally humiliated her during the first three days of the semester by throwing his and Britta's completely dysfunctional relationship in her face.

That? That was nothing compared to the hollowed-out emptiness in her chest and the anxious thoughts ricocheting around her head like the inner workings of a pinball machine on her drive home.

It was true, she hadn't disappointed Britta on purpose, but that didn't make things much better as Annie lay doubled over on her bed, with a dry sob or two gently wracking her body.

" _I'm heartless at worst and clueless at best right now,"_ she lamented miserably, trying to get some semblance of a grip on herself by the time the boys returned from their trip to The Exchange to check out some old Spiderman comics.

She took a few deep breaths to calm herself down and waited a bit to give Abed and Troy some unburdened comic-book reading time before coming out of her room. Unsure of the best way to broach the topic, she asked, a little shakily, "Troy? Abed? Can I pose a kind of serious Casa Trobedison question? And, actually, it's for outside the apartment, too."

They communicated via eye contact and mind-meld for a few seconds before Troy nodded. "Sure, go ahead, Annie."

"Can we agree to retire the phrase 'Britta-ing' and all related variations?" she proposed.

Troy and Abed looked back at Annie, clearly confused, before Abed wondered, "But what if she Brittas something?"

Annie straightened her posture, leveled him with a glare, and responded, with an edge of steel in her voice, "I'm sorry I framed that as a question, Abed. Let me clarify. No more insulting Britta like that, at all. Okay?"

Troy looked as if he was about to chime in, "But we can still insult her in other ways, right?" when Annie whipped her head around to offer him her best Minerva McGonagall-esque scowl.

As they both shrunk back from her a little, Annie sighed. "I'm sorry, guys. Britta and I got into a fight earlier and I feel like garbage about it, since it was my fault, but I shouldn't take it out on you."

"It's ok, you're not," Troy reassured her.

"Or at least, not too much," Abed commented, drawing a slightly muted groan from Troy. "Oh, was this one of the times I should just agree with you to help make our Annie feel better?" Abed asked him, with Troy nodding in response.

Troy quickly reassured her, "We'll stop using Britta's name as a verb for messing up, promise."

Abed added, "We didn't realize it was so hurtful, so I'm glad you told us."

"Thank you, guys," Annie answered warmly. "That _is_ my girlfriend you're talking about, and she's pretty fantastic, so I—or both of us, honestly—we'd really appreciate it."

"You do…" Abed started saying something before Troy cut him off with a look.

Annie thought about pressing him for details, but she didn't want to set off an alarmed-Abed whine. " _Plus, he and Troy seem closer than ever these days, so Troy probably had a good reason for stopping him from commenting,_ " she guessed.

Britta skipped the next study session—as she'd explained to Annie via text, she just needed a day away from everyone. Annie took advantage of her absence to get Shirley to come around to her viewpoint, offering up her best doe eyes and her most pious expression as she murmured softly, "Wouldn't it be more _Christian_ to offer kindness rather than ill-spoken words, Shirley? To lift one up or leave them be rather than tear them down?" She added an earnestness to her tone that low-key disgusted her, that reminded her of her over-eager high school self, but she knew Shirley enjoyed taking on a mom role and would respond better to that than to the thought that Annie was being a false prophet of sorts.

(Yeah, she can be manipulative as fuck when she wants, and it's a touch ironic given that she's appealing to Shirley's sense of morality. But it's for her girlfriend's general well-being, which is kind of a great cause, so, whatever.)

She's rewarded with one of Shirley's warm smiles and a, "Good thinking, An-nie. You're right, of course."

She tried her best to wear a humble grin. Especially with Jeff watching; he could still read her way too well, sometimes. Luckily, that particular trait went both ways.

She decided to strike up a more casual approach to chat with him, while also playing a bit to his vanity and sense of superiority. Waiting until after the rest of the group had left, she leaned toward Jeff conspiratorially to comment, "Seems like you're gonna take over as the Pierce of the group if you're the only one left attacking Britta, my friend."

He rolled his eyes. "First off, I'm not old enough, racist enough, or sexist enough to be Pierce. Second, you're trying to deprive me of one of the few things that makes these study sessions truly enjoyable. And third," he went on, ticking off reasons on his fingers, "you're assuming Britta's not going to ruin your little plan by completely Britta'ing it and saying, I don't know, that the EPA needs to protect the Coca-Cola polar bear from extinction." He sighed. "Listen, Annie, I'm always gonna love Britta, as a friend, in my own, weird way. Even _you've_ gotta admit, though, she's kind of a dumbass, sometimes."

"That may be true, but she's _my_ dumbass," Annie replied staunchly. She barely resisted the urge to tack on, "Not yours," since she didn't want to needle or antagonize Jeff at the moment. However, she shocked herself by instead adding, "And if you think how you feel toward Britta is love, then I'm not surprised you've been single for so long, Jeff."

" _Two definite side effects of dating Britta Perry: I'm less afraid to speak my mind, and I'm way more liable to shit-talk Jeff when he's being an ass,"_ Annie thought, still rather stunned and scandalized at her cutting remark, even as she clapped a hand over her mouth, but also half-impressed with herself.

She and Britta had never delved _too_ far into their collective messy histories with Jeff—there was enough baggage to fill a Boeing 747—but Annie gathered, from some of Britta's semi-cryptic comments, that he'd reverted to his season 1 self, as Abed might say, at times, during their year-long illicit affair. Britta admitted that they'd had fun, sure, but there had been instances when it seemed that Jeff had wanted more from her without actually committing to anything. Which Annie, frankly, couldn't comprehend from her perspective.

Because why wouldn't you want to commit to someone who genuinely seizes most days (even if it's for a cause in a third-world country that she can't necessarily explain well)? Why would you leave a relationship with Britta open-ended when you could instead close the loop and ensure you're the only one on the receiving end of her kisses, her loud laughter, her glances of endearment, even her shitty, flat-as-a-pancake jokes? Why wouldn't you want her to stay?

Jeff interrupted Annie's inner monologue. "I deserved that," he admitted quietly. "And I can at least stop using Britta's name as an insult. It _does_ remind me a little too much of something Pierce would do to one of his servants, or something."

Annie nodded appreciatively. "Thank you, Jeff."

He added, "But don't expect me to stop bantering with her entirely, or letting it go when she tries to say something is a simile but calls it slime instead."

"That's fair," Annie agreed. "You suddenly being a perfect gentleman, especially to Britta, would unsettle everyone."

"Excuse you, I can be a perfect gentleman when I want to be," Jeff argued back. "I just have no reason to bestow my ample charm on any of you. And since it would probably freak Britta out, it would be extra wasted on her." He shot off one of his flirty smirks anyway, a variation on one that used to make Annie go weak in the knees. Jeff was clearly pleased with his repartee, and Annie's earlier annoyance with him had mostly evaporated. But for once, she knew exactly how to get the last word in, and she wasn't going to pass up that opportunity.

"That's right, Jeff," she hummed playfully as she got up to leave, as if she was half-flirting herself, before commenting, with a chilling coolness, "You don't need to use your winning charm on Britta. Because she's all mine."

**

Fortunately, the next few study sessions passed without incident, and Annie was pretty pleased with herself when Friday rolled around, as Britta was swinging by the apartment for one of their group dinners with the boys.

"Hey, hon," Annie greeted her with a light kiss before settling back in on her perch on the couch; she'd recently gotten into the hyper-competitive, dramatic trainwreck of a cooking show that was Top Chef.

"Boys are in the Dreamatorium?" Britta asked.

"Yep," Annie confirmed.

"Playing Inspector Spacetime?"

The sound of cockneyed British accents coming through the door answered that question.

They'd all decided on a pretty easy meal for tonight's group dinner—four-cheese ravioli with red sauce and garlic bread on the side—so, after setting some water on the stove to boil and salting it, Annie settled in against Britta, content to laugh at the utter ridiculousness of a half-German contestant trying to make Thai street tacos.

At the next commercial break, Britta commented softly, "Thanks for sticking up for me, Annie."

"Hmm? How'd I do that?" Annie questioned.

"Don't play coy. You're gonna tell me you had no role in the rest of the group refusing to say I Britta'd anything during the past week or so?" she asked.

Annie gave her a sly grin. "You flatter me by assuming I have that much influence over our friends."

"That's not a denial, so…"

"Okay, yeah, I may have talked to them," Annie conceded, still smirking.

"I guess if someone wants to fight my battles for me, I could do worse than having it be you, babe," Britta murmured affectionately. "Even if I do still Br—I mean, screw stuff up sometimes."

"You've done a lot of good, too," Annie observed.

Britta chortled. "Like what?"

"Hello, earth to Britta. Who convinced Greendale to think about developing an LGBTQ+ support group?" Annie asked.

"I mean, I suggested it," Britta muttered. "It was just dumb luck that a guy I hooked up with a while ago works at a youth outreach organization in the area. He did more of the leg-work, not me."

Undeterred, Annie pressed on, "Who got the Biology Department here to move to virtual dissecting to save all the rats from getting cut up?"

Britta waved a hand dismissively. "You know they only did that because it was cheaper."

Annie refused to let go of her point. "Ok. Who helped me unlearn my parents' toxic homophobia and get it out of my head? Who helped me come to grips with liking girls?" she demanded. "Who listened when I was word-vomiting and crying during the whole crazy journey of accepting myself, of loving myself, as a lesbian?"

Britta flashed her a small, proud grin at those final, more personal examples. "I did."

" _Thank_ you. Finally," Annie huffed in a half-exasperated, half-affectionate tone. "So don't tell me you're not special, Britta. You're fucking amazing, ok? I…"

The words catch in her throat and she's not quite sure if she should cough them up yet, but Britta interprets the red frustration on her face correctly, running her fingers through Annie's hair before pulling her in closer for a Spiderman kiss.

Annie thinks Britta might know what she's thinking and what she wants to say, though, because her kiss tastes a lot like love (and a little like danger) and Annie's never felt safer than when she's wrapped up in her girl's arms.

**

Unfortunately for Annie, that safety and security melted away as she and Britta swapped roles within the next couple of weeks.

She'd seen some of the stress coming down the pike, in the form of an abundance of projects and quizzes, and was doing her best to work ahead, even if that meant sacrificing her usual seven to eight hours of sleep for a less enviable five or six.

What Annie hadn't anticipated, or scheduled time for, or written as a warning in her planner, was the flat slap of apathy that hit her shortly after her one professor announced that they'd have to start interviewing for hospital admin internships for over the summer relatively soon—by April, most likely, to give staffs time to schedule them in. Annie, of course, had emailed Denver Health and Kindred Hospital Denver that very day to discuss such opportunities, and had quietly glowed with pride when one of the administrative assistants she'd emailed noted that he admired her initiative at reaching out. But beyond that, once she'd gotten a description of the kinds of job duties she'd be seeing up close and in action—billing, managing staff, creating schedules, ensuring compliance with state and federal regulations—an unpleasant dullness settled in her stomach. Annie could easily recognize a hospital administrator's value, and her organizational skills certainly lent themselves well to the role. It seemed like a fairly safe career path, too.

She frowned as she reflected on that thought. _"Maybe too safe."_

She'd chosen something that screamed stability when she'd been screaming herself hoarse for it, when she'd craved predictability with damn near the same force she'd once needed those little white Adderall pills. She'd chosen that path when she was still a kid, basically, albeit a kid who'd gotten through rehab on her own dime, and now she might be paying for eighteen-year-old Annie's decision both in dollars and in time, so much potentially _goddamn wasted_ time. And she didn't want to calculate how rerouting and remapping her life _again_ would further damage her brittle bank account and her unsteady mental health, because Greendale was her plan B and dropping down to plan C was unacceptable, because C's are average at best and Annie Edison doesn't _do_ average, never did (and mother _fuck_ her parents' insistence that anything less than perfection was failure because she'd never quite gotten over it, despite the therapy that came with rehab). And she knew she was spiraling, that she was both mentally driving off a cliff at triple digit speed and stalling out all at once, so she tried to re-center herself with deep breaths, but they all came out like gasps as she fretted that her life was a sad, pathetic movie that she'd sat through, a meaningless sequence of snafus that had done nothing but suck up her money and leave her bearing the emotional scars of her parents' presence and absence (what a fabulous double feature).

Annie was rocking back and forth slightly while sitting at the dining room table, willing herself to get to studying or doing homework or something, _anything_ vaguely productive once she'd stopped digging her nails into the tops of her thighs when she heard the rattle of apartment 303's doorknob and Britta's slightly confused call of, "Annie? Aren't you home?"

"Yeah," she called back, hurrying over to the door to unlock it.

"Thank you," Britta trilled as she came in. "Everything okay, babe?"

" _Say yes,"_ Annie's semi-hateful inner perfectionist implored. _"Say yes because you're supposed to be in control. Say yes because otherwise you're letting the weakness win. Say yes because you might scare Britta away if you admit just how often these little episodes happen. Say—"_

" _Fuck you,"_ she interrupted herself. Not admitting she had a problem was how she'd ended up in rehab, once upon a time. She forced herself to take a shaky breath before answering Britta aloud, "Honestly, no. I'm kinda realizing that I might not want to go into hospital administration, but I don't know what else to do and I've spent all this money on the classes and…"

Annie gulped for air and pressed on because, fuck it, she was in this deep already, so she might as well keep going, "I'm terrified that I'm just watching my life go by and I'm not doing anything worthwhile with it and you're gonna realize that and move on because who'd ever want to date such an anxiety-ridden mess like me?"

The tears that had been threatening to overtake the corners of her eyes finally burst out in heaving sobs as Annie hyperventilated her way through her two biggest fears, but Britta held her tight and pressed gentle kisses to her forehead and the bridge of her nose before softly suggesting, "How about you sit down and I'll get you some tissues and then start making some of your chamomile tea? And then I'll be right back with you, Annie."

She nodded shakily as Britta half-walked, half-carried her to the couch before retrieving some tissues from the bathroom and then dashing to the kitchen to put the tea kettle on. Once it got going, Britta went back to the living room to address one clearly over-stressed Annie Edison. She'd learned, more or less through trial and error, how to best help her girl through such breakdowns. Whereas Britta would rather try to attack her anxieties and insecurities more or less head-on when they reached a boiling point, Annie had to settle her nerves and gain a cooler head first. So Britta started by asking, "Can I hold you, babe?"

Annie blew her nose and, though her nod was a bit morose, that was better than when she was trapped in such an overwhelming anxiety or panic attack that she didn't want any physical contact at all. Her crying had lessened significantly by the time the kettle's whistle cut through the silence, and Britta murmured, "I'll go fix a cup for you and it should be ready in about five minutes."

"Thanks, Britta," Annie whispered as she wiped away the last few tears and the eyeliner that had run down her face.

"Of course," Britta answered compassionately, and her tone helped assuage Annie's fears a bit more while she made her tea. "And, Annie? You know I'm not going anywhere, right?"

Annie shot her a watery smile. "Yeah. Yeah, I know."

"Good," Britta answered simply with a smile as she retreated back to the kitchen. She stayed there, both to watch over the tea as it steeped and to give Annie a little bit of time to collect her thoughts on her own.

"And here you go," Britta announced as she brought a steaming mug of chamomile tea out for Annie. "Do you have…?"

"Yep, got a coaster," Annie confirmed as she put it on the one endtable next to the couch.

"Thank goodness you moved in here or the boys would have none of these little homey amenities," Britta commented. After waiting a couple of minutes for the drink to cool, Annie sipped it tentatively, not wanting to add a scalded tongue to her list of problems. "That's good," she murmured appreciatively, taking a longer drink before setting her mug back down.

"I'm glad," Britta whispered as she rubbed gentle circles on Annie's back, through her cardigan. "Is there anything else I can do for you, Annie? Do you want to talk about anything?"

"No to the first question, yes to the second," Annie confirmed. "I feel a bit better now, but I'm still pretty concerned about the whole 'I don't know what I'm doing with my life' thing. I feel sort of…" her voice trailed off and she frowned. "I think untethered might be the word I'm looking for," she decided. "I mean, I had this plan and now it might not be what I want and I don't really do well without goals or specific objectives to complete and I've already been here three years. Three years and change, really." Her frown deepened.

Britta interrupted before Annie's anxiety could reassert itself too strongly. "But you've been learning a lot of Excel, right? That's definitely a transferable skill. And you can direct groups pretty effectively. You can get _us_ to work together for at least a reasonable amount of time on dioramas, which is no easy feat," she pointed out.

"I suppose that's true," Annie agreed, "but I still don't really have a clue as to how I want to apply those abilities."

Britta's chuckle in response came out half-bemused and half-endearingly-exasperated. "Annie. Babe. Baby steps, okay? Let's break down that big goal into actionable steps." Britta gave a start as she retrieved the small pad of paper and pen from off the fridge. "Jesus, I sound like you."

"Guess someone's actually been listening to my study and planning tips," Annie hummed with a tiny hint of smugness.

"I'm not sure what's more embarrassing, the fact that I didn't apply any of those until after I turned 30 or the fact that I had to learn them from someone ten years my junior," Britta admitted sheepishly.

"Hey, no having a pity party, Perry," Annie responded. "Only one of us can suffer a nervous breakdown at a time, remember?" she asked, trying to inject a touch of levity into her voice.

"Yeah," Britta nodded, laughing, but it came out hollow. "It's just, you have so much more time on your side than I do," she sighed before she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and sat up straighter on the couch. "But, at least I'm here, and I've got you. And now," she held the pen above the top of the first clean page, "what are we calling this? Annie's grand re-invention?"

Annie actually laughed at her high-falutin tone. "I don't know about that. But I'm also getting sick of saying I don't know."

"Okay, well, I think I can help fix that," Britta noted, jotting the number "one" down on the left side of the page before writing her first step. "Step one: go to Greendale's career services center. The advisors there are pretty on top of their stuff and have relevant career coaching experience," Britta explained.

"What are they doing at Greendale if they're actually qualified?" Annie asked suspiciously before taking another gulp of tea.

"We're kind of seen as the basket cases of the Denver community college circuit," Britta conceded. "They're doing research studies on graduation and job placement rates. But, really, they're helpful." She continued, "I went for some exploratory discussions when I was trying to figure out my major. They helped me settle on psych and transformed my resume from a trainwreck to something at least passably mediocre. So, I'm sure they'll be able to help someone as bright as you even more quickly," she concluded quietly.

Annie felt her cheeks burn with an embarrassing blush. "I hadn't realized you'd put so much time and thought into that decision, Britta," she murmured. "Sorry I assumed you just sort of threw a dart and picked the first thing you hit."

"I mean, I sort of did," Britta shrugged. "I hadn't been planning on it, but fake activism is hardly a real career, and I don't have the skills to hack it in the scale-up or funding sides of a non-profit. But I'd still like to help people in a way, if I can."

"Well, you helped talk me out of an anxiety spiral, so I'd say you've achieved some kind of psychological success, today," Annie told her after she sipped on more of her tea. "And now I have something I can do rather than just sit and languish in my own shitty headspace, so, thanks, hon."

She gave Britta a lingering kiss of gratitude before saying, "Two things. One, would you be able to tell me who you talked to at career services? And two, I think I'm gonna take a shower to decompress more while the boys are out."

"Where are they?" Britta wondered aloud.

"At the arcade with Pavel," Annie replied as she retrieved her towel and a set of pajamas for after she got out.

"Ah, okay. Yeah, I can forward you the guy's email address," Britta answered her earlier question, but the second one had really piqued her interest. "And is that, like, an open invitation?" she asked as casually as possible.

"Hmm." Annie pretended to think, and Britta was delighted to see a devilish grin creeping over her face. "I wonder, do I wanna see my favorite girl naked and dripping wet or not?" she murmured in a low tone as she came over to Britta, capturing her lips in a fierce kiss. "Gimme five minutes to myself to zone out and then you're more than welcome to join, babe," Annie told her, still smirking as she retreated to the bathroom.

Britta groaned. "Make it three minutes? Please?"

She was thrilled as she heard Annie's coy response through the door. "Sure. Only cause you said please."

**

Britta came in about two and a half minutes after Annie had gotten in the shower, but Annie was hardly going to quibble about sharing space with the coolest, most alluring woman she'd ever met, especially not when Britta's blue eyes were clouded over like an incoming thunderstorm on a sweltering summer day and her kisses burned hotter than the water raining down against Annie's back.

She gave a muted huff of frustration as Britta pulled back to retrieve her favorite vanilla chai body wash. "Soap you up?" she asked, wiggling the bottle.

Annie nodded happily. "Yes, please."

They usually got into trouble when that happened, but today, Britta's touches were almost feather-light, much more intimate and sensual than outright naughty, even as she murmured, against the crook of Annie's neck, "Darlin, I'll bathe your skin, I'll even wash your clothes. Just gimme some candy, before I go,"

"Is that from a song?" Annie whispered.

"Yeah. I don't remember the name, but the sentiment's nice, isn't it?" Britta murmured as she

Normally, Annie would object to being handled like something fragile, but Britta was nurturing her, not treating her like she was broken, and once she made that distinction in her mind, she luxuriated fully in Britta's touches and relaxed her shoulders, sighing as she released a few reserves of tension she didn't know she'd been gripping.

"Can I return the favor? I think I still owe you," Annie commented, and Britta passed her the bottle of body wash. "Thanks again for helping me from getting too overwhelmed with my thoughts, Britta."

"Of course, babe," Britta answered softly. "I know you'd do the same for me. And just as a reminder, we're not defined by our limitations, but by our potential," she recited, smiling at Annie's quiet, proud nod. "And you've got that in spades, Annie," Britta went on earnestly, closing her eyes, tilting her head back, and sighing dreamily as Annie worked her hands down her spine. "You're driven, and smart, and empathetic," she enthused. "You've grown so much since we met, you've made me a better person, and I know you're going to find what you want to do in terms of a career and absolutely kill it. I…"

Annie barely heard Britta's gasp over the water, but judging by how quickly her eyes flashed open, she'd been on the verge of saying something Annie had been thinking more and more lately. For a second, Annie considered not speaking up, especially given her recent meltdown, then figured, _"What's the point of this if I don't tell her how I feel? And I'm going to be nervous no matter what."_

She murmured, "Britta?" and stepped closer to her.

Britta responded in kind, saying, "Annie?" in a hushed, questioning, almost disbelieving tone, leaning in so their foreheads were pressed together and they were nearly kissing.

Annie leaned in the tiniest bit herself to offer a kiss that seemed to speak for both of them before glancing up at Britta. She held her girlfriend's gaze, summoned up all her courage, and whispered against Britta's lips, "I love you."

Britta emitted something between Annie's delighted squeal and Abed's alarmed squeak before whispering back, "I love you, too."

Annie's felt Britta smile into their kisses before, but never like this, like she's positively radiant, and she can't help but wonder if she's dreaming as they pull back from each other, both trying to catch their breath.

But then Britta's murmuring, "I love you, Annie Edison," again, because she can, because their affection has sort of settled into the universe, because it's true, and it's Annie's turn to smile like a lovesick fool into their next kiss as she replies, "I love you too, Britta Perry," and for everything that's gone wrong in her life—the Adderall addiction, getting disowned, for all intents and purposes, putting herself through rehab, having to go to community college, needing to potentially reinvent herself again—this going right might just make up for all of it.

"This" being the first romantic "I love you" she's ever shared with anyone. With her girlfriend, in a shower, in the aftermath of a pretty severe anxiety attack, of all times and places. And Annie can't help but crack up at the absurdity of it all. Even through the start of her sophomore year at Greendale, she'd somewhat naively hoped that her first "I love you" would be after a dinner at a fancy restaurant, or maybe before catching a show at some theater, with swelling orchestral music playing in her mind, and a slow, perfectly choreographed, end of a rom-com type kiss playing out. But true love is messy, it's chaotic. It can be difficult. But honestly, the real thing is also _worlds_ better than her idyllic daydreams.

"What?" Britta asked, giggling along with Annie.

"I'm still kind of in shock and disbelief. In a good way, the best way," she quickly reassured Britta. "It's just funny to think about. Like, who would've guessed we'd end up together in," she blushed before verbalizing her hope, "a long-term relationship?"

"In case my intentions aren't clear, sweetheart, I wanna date the fuck out of you for a long, _long_ time," Britta breathed, her words stealing Annie's breath away. "And you mean you didn't fantasize about _this_ ," she gestured around them, "being the backdrop to first tell your girlfriend you love her?" Britta deadpanned, grinning as Annie's burst of laughter echoed off the shower walls.

"No, no I didn't. I also sure as hell didn't think I'd have a girlfriend," Annie wryly replied before stealing another kiss and adding, "But it's—I mean, you're—you're so much more, so much better than anything or anyone I ever hoped for, Britta," she confessed shyly.

"I totally agree, Annie," Britta nodded. "And thank you, by the way, for having the guts to say what I choked on. My brain decided to be like, hey, remember the last time you told someone you loved them and got stood up in front of the whole school?"

Annie snorted. "As if I'd ever Jeff you. You're way too important to me, babe. Not to mention, it's kinda difficult to run away from someone in a shower."

Britta downright cackled at that, and even the water transitioning from lukewarm to ice cold couldn't wipe the massive grin off of Annie's face at the beautiful sound of her favorite person's laughter.


	4. I Get Down by Esthero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I generally love Community, but I feel like the show missed some massive opportunities to flesh out Annie’s Jewish heritage as part of her identity (beyond horrible jokes), as well as some chances to explore her and Britta’s relationships with their parents, so this chapter is largely devoted to those two topics. Set during the spring of season 3.
> 
> Also, I have a headcanon that Britta’s bi and knew that about herself for a while before Greendale (i.e. since she was about to graduate high school, so she would’ve been about 17 or 18 at the time); this comes up later on in the chapter.

In a weird, roundabout way, Annie had Pierce to thank for deciding to attend a Sabbath service for the first time in ages.

He'd made another one of his terribly off-color jokes (something about Jews and Dick's Sporting Goods; she'd blocked out the rest of the details) during one of their study sessions a couple of weeks ago and she'd been about to protest, "I'm barely even Jewish anymore!" when she realized that Pierce would take that admittance as an opening to just make even more insensitive comments.

" _Still, it's kind of true,"_ Annie thought to herself as she parked at the synagogue she'd chosen for their Sabbath morning service. _"I haven't really practiced my religion regularly since high school, so I'll at least see how I feel about it now."_

At the very least, she'd gotten to select a more progressive synagogue for worship compared to the more conservative, traditional one she'd grown up frequenting with her parents. One where other worshippers wouldn't look at her askance if she wore pants or a skirt that didn't come all the way down to her ankles.

Participating in the first couple of services didn't feel like coming home, exactly, to Annie, but maybe like reconnecting with an old friend she'd drifted apart from earlier in life. She'd gotten in the habit of attending every weekend, nearly, for a little bit over a month when, one Thursday night, at the end of an impromptu study group happy hour, Britta asked, "Are you going to your service this weekend, Annie?"

"I think so, probably on Saturday afternoon after I get out of work. Why?"

She guessed Britta maybe wanted to schedule a date or just check in—while Britta had improved her organizational skills since they'd gotten together, scheduling still wasn't always her strong suit.

She didn't expect Britta to wonder aloud, "Could I come with you?"

After Annie's surprise left her silent for a few beats, Britta explained further, "I've actually been studying Judaism a little—like, from reputable sources—in my spare time. Since it's becoming more a part of your identity. I want to get to know it more in-depth, I think?" she clarified. And I'm not saying it's your job or anything to educate me. It's just, there's only so much I can gather from reading books and watching YouTube videos."

"Well, I really appreciate that, babe," Annie replied. "But," she hesitated, trying to come up with the most tactful way to articulate her thoughts. "You're an atheist." She winced at Britta's slight frown; her observation had accidentally come out a bit accusatory. Annie hurried on, "And you don't really believe in organized religion, so you shouldn't feel like you have to come with me to a service. And it's kind of personal."

Annie still felt like she'd screwed up her answer somehow as she saw the visible disappointment on Britta's face, the unnecessary apology about to rise off her lips. She wanted to find a way to include Britta in this part of her life, or at least respect her request to experience it, so she quickly added, "However…" to her previous sentence and willed her brain to come up with a satisfactory answer.

Britta's frown shifted to one of confusion. "What is it?"

Annie found the appropriate response pretty quickly—she wasn't always the best at thinking on her feet (after all, she _had_ once chloroformed an innocent janitor. Twice. Oops), but in this instance, she did well. "We could watch an online service together when I swing by your place after my shift is done?" Annie suggested. "I'm sure those are a thing in this day and age. Plus, if you have any questions, we could pause it and I could answer them, or we could look them up. I'm still re-learning some things," she confessed.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'd be up for trying that," Britta smiled. "Good idea, Annie."

"Thanks. I'll just have to see if I can find my prayer book or get a new one before then," she commented. "I'd prefer having a hard copy as opposed to reading online."

"Sure," Britta nodded.

Annie would be lying if she said she wasn't harboring any reservations to sharing her religion with Britta, especially considering the rather strong negative reactions she'd sometimes had to Shirley's more proselytizing speeches and morality tales about the virtues of Christianity.

" _On the other hand_ ," Annie told herself, " _she asked about this and expressed interest in learning about this part of me, so I don't think I have to worry too much._ "

Granted, it felt a bit strange to be watching a service on her laptop, at a digital remove from an unknown congregation Annie had found after scouring YouTube for a bit, but Britta was genuinely respectful for just about the entire hour and change. Well, aside from when she'd rolled her eyes during the rabbi's homily as he extolled the virtues of patience and persistence in comparison with God creating the world in seven days, and even Annie could agree that creationism didn't hold too much weight with her, either.

The whole experience ended up being oddly intimate, really. As Annie paused the video at the end and was about to close it, she noticed what appeared to be a small family in the background, laughing at a joke. That observation, combined with her warm feelings toward Britta, prompted Annie to ask, almost without thinking, "How would you raise your kids? In terms of religion?"

Britta nearly dropped the grill pan she'd retrieved from one of her bottom cabinets so the two of them could get started on making vegetarian fajitas; Britta had convinced Annie to buy a packet of mock chicken strips at Whole Foods for them to try.

"S-sorry," Annie stuttered. "That was kind of a loaded question to spring on you, Britta."

"It's fine, Annie," Britta assured her, but her quavery voice suggested a little bit of fear on her part. "I think that, if I were to have a kid, which, I don't know yet if I want to or not," she admitted, "I'd let them make their own choice on that matter, once they got old enough to weigh their options. And if they ended up atheist, or Catholic, or Buddhist, you know, whatever they chose, it would be fine by me."

Annie thought that would be the end of Britta's response when she added, with a sharp edge, "Because that's how it goes. That's what you do, as a parent. You love and support your kid, no matter what. Or at least, I've heard that's what you're _supposed_ to do." Her attempt at an airy laugh fell flat. "I don't think my parents ever got that memo."

"No?" Annie asked softly, getting off the couch to try and comfort her girlfriend with her presence. While Britta had hinted a few times that she bore pretty severe emotional scars from her parents while she was growing up, she'd never outright told Annie what they'd said or done.

"Nope," Britta replied a touch grimly, popping the "p" at the end of her short declaration as she put the pan on the stovetop, got out the olive oil, and poured a healthy dose of it in. "They, um." She cleared her throat and tried again. "They weren't all that supportive when I came out as bi, my senior year of high school. Or later on. They've never really been okay with it, honestly."

"Britta!" Annie gasped and hugged her fiercely before whispering, "I'm sorry. You didn't, and don't, deserve that."

She knows very little about Britta's parents, but she'd quite like to give them a stern talking-to. Maybe vandalize their house with a couple of well-placed paintball shots for good measure.

(Is skipping from "having a discussion about the importance of acceptance and tolerance" to "committing property damage" too aggressive? Probably. But Annie's accepted that she loves Britta with a frightening ferocity that almost always defies logic.)

She wasn't sure exactly what to say next, but ended up asking, "If you don't mind my asking, how did you realize you—?" She'd never been the best at initiating these conversations, but she wanted to at least ensure Britta knew she had her full attention, so she added, "We can sit down and start dinner later, if you want. I'm not super hungry yet."

"Yeah, I'd appreciate that," Britta muttered, wiping a bit at her eyes. Once they'd gotten settled, she admitted, "I'm pretty sure I subconsciously knew I liked girls at least as much as I liked guys when I was 16, because even though I was all like 'the beauty industry wants to poison us all!' I couldn't help but admire how pretty some girls in my classes looked," Britta recollected, a small smile playing on her face at the memory. "But I'd always sort of ignored how intense my friendships with girls got. Until I met this girl Sam in some art elective I had to take my senior year and it...it woke me up to the possibilities," she admitted quietly. "We were dumb kids stirring shit up outside of school and trying to convice ourselves that the punk music we liked was underground because it was all authentic, not because the artists lacked any real talent."

Annie chuckled at that and considered saying more, but Britta seemed to be on a roll, so she stayed quiet as the story continued.

"So we were at some party one weekend—not with, like, drinking, but the kid who was hosting had an Xbox AND a PS2, which was rad." Britta shook her head wistfully, that slight grin popping back up on her face, and Annie could practically see her in some basement, probably wearing a leather jacket, even then, as Britta went on, "And I remember thinking it would've probably been fun without Sam, but with her there, I had an absolute blast and we just kissed at the end of the night, in the front yard, before our parents picked us up."

"Aww, babe. That sounds really sweet."

"It was," Britta confirmed. "We weren't dating or anything, but there was definitely a deeper affection there than being just friends, you know?"

Annie grinned. "I think I've experienced those feelings for a certain woman before. Hard to say for sure, though."

Britta laughed and swatted playfully at her arm. "Shut up, you love me."

"Duh doy," Annie answered, reveling in her near-flawless Britta imitation. "So what happened after that?"

"We were kind of half-dating and half-not," Britta explained. "We definitely didn't know what the fuck we were doing. But I _did_ know, after a while, that I was comfortable calling myself bi," she noted. "And I was really lucky that our library had a surprising amount of literature on the spectrum of human sexuality, considering it was only the mid-2000s. So I eventually decided to tell my parents." Her laugh this time came out a short, harsh bark. "I'll give them credit for being innovators, they fed me all the quietly homophobic lines about 'close friendship' and 'gal pals' before I came across a lot of them in literature and pop culture. They seemed to think me liking women was just a phase, which," she gestured at Annie, "it's clearly not."

"Ugh, that sounds awful," Annie commiserated.

"I've mostly gotten used to it, by now," Britta sighed. "And at least I know what _not_ to do if, if a kid was part of my future. Or our future," she concluded quietly, the quaver in her voice betraying her slight nervousness.

As much as Annie's tried to be mature, to act older than her age during a good chunk of college, she hadn't really thought about having a child before. Sure, in her previous idle daydreams, she'd assumed that would be part of the package with finding a husband and getting married, but those musings had been abstract, whereas this conversation with Britta is concrete.

She knows she wants Britta for the long-term, but she hadn't yet considered the possibility of permanence. Of, well, marrying her (or being "life partners" now because God forbid the gays can get married legally in Colorado). But the idea of being a parent with her?

It _is_ a little frightening to picture. Just nowhere near as frightening as the idea of a future without Britta in it.

"I'm sorry, was that too scary or abrupt—" Britta started to apologize, but Annie quickly answered, "No, no, not at all, I'm just trying to find the right words."

After another beat, she replied haltingly, "If we did end up having a kid together, I think we'd both be amazing at offering him or her fierce, unconditional love. Because we both know what it's like to not have that from our own parents."

Britta normally wasn't one for crying, but Annie spotted a small trickle of two or three teardrops before she blinked hard, nodded, and confirmed, "Yes. Absolutely." She hugged Annie tight, murmured, "I love you so much, Annie."

"Love you too, Britta," Annie hummed contentedly before giving her a peck. "Not to change the subject too quickly, but…" she trailed off and chuckled as her stomach growled.

Britta laughed. "Dinner time?"

Annie nodded as they rose up off the couch together. "Let's get cooking."

**

"What tunes are you picking today for background music, chef?" Annie asked, trying to inject a hopeful note into her voice as she and Britta chopped up peppers and onions. The last time Britta had control over music during dinner prep, she'd selected the Tony Hawk Pro Skater 2 soundtrack. While Annie appreciated the in-depth education on punk rock and ska, she rather wanted to listen to something a bit less noisy today.

"Hmm…" Britta pulled up iTunes on her computer after she got some fresh olive oil heating in a pan. "How about some bossa nova?"

"That sounds good," Annie responded a tad suspiciously, because those kind of easy-listening tunes were way more up her alley than they were Britta's.

As if she could read her girlfriend's mind, Britta commented with a smile, "Someone's taste in music might be rubbing off on me."

The piano and string-infused jazz lended an air of class, sophistication, and refinery to their cooking, and given their conversation, Annie couldn't help but wonder what it might be like to enjoy such comfortable domesticity as a family.

" _I'd like to think we'd be good parents,"_ Annie reflected as she added a few spices to the chopped-up peppers and onions. _"If we chose to be. Although that's really long-term thinking and well, who's to say if our lives would work out like that?"_

Britta's playful hip bump helped pull Annie out of her own head, and the playlist's turn into a couple of more guitar-based songs reminded her of a similar Esthero track she'd stumbled across recently.

"Do you mind if I put on a specific song I found like this on YouTube, hon?" Annie asked over the sizzle of sauteing veggies.

Britta nodded as she cut up a few of the larger faux-chicken slices and tossed them into the pan. "Sure, Annie."

After a few seconds, the sound of a finger-picked acoustic guitar played through the speakers, and the two of them hummed along to the singer's scatting before the lyrics actually kicked in:

_I get down_

_To the sound of gettin' down_

_Slow and heavy,_

_Woman, hurry back._

_I find the beauty,_

_And baby, this is music_

"Spicy," Britta commented with a wink as she danced her way over to the fridge to get sour cream and salsa for the fajitas.

"I hadn't remembered quite how sensual this song is," Annie murmured, blushing slightly at the racy implications of

_I get down_

_To the sound of gettin' down_

_I like this flavor,_

_Want it to linger._

"It's good," Britta nodded, tapping her foot along to the beat as she and Annie plated up their dinners.

"As is the food," Annie added after taking an oversized bite of her first fajita. "Great team effort on the cooking, babe."

"Thanks, and you're welcome," Britta replied, digging into her fajitas with gusto, as well.

Once they'd finished dinner and cleaned everything up, Britta noted, with a slightly devilish grin, "I've got a surprise dessert for you, Annie."

"Ooh, what is it?" she asked immediately.

Britta laughed. "You're gonna get it in like five minutes, babe. Maybe less. Just close your eyes and I'll be right back." She got up and, as she retreated to the bathroom—Annie frowned, because what kind of good surprise involves a bathroom?—called back over her shoulder, "And no peeking til I say you can!"

"Okay, okay," Annie laughed, still wondering just what the surprise could be. Britta wasn't making it easy to keep still; she felt the blonde brush by her to retrieve something from the fridge. Fortunately, she didn't have to wait much longer.

"Got your surprise desserts here, babe," Britta told her in a breathy whisper.

"Desserts, plural?" Annie answered happily. "Do I finally get to see?"

"Yeah, you do, hon," Britta chuckled.

Annie slipped her hands off her eyes and honestly, if she slipped into cardiac arrest because Britta looked like she stepped out of the world's classiest Playboy shoot, decked out in a fire engine red lingerie set, taking a decadent bite out of a chocolate covered strawberry, it wouldn't be the worst way to go.

 _"My status as the family disappointment is already cemented, at least in my parents' eyes,"_ Annie thought. _"What are they gonna do, get even more mad if they find out I'm gay and had tons of premarital sex with my girlfriend before my untimely death?"_

She cracked herself up with the weirdly macabre thought.

Britta frowned. "What is it?"

Annie swatted away her concerns as she stepped closer to Britta. "It's—it's nothing," she murmured between kisses. "Nothing that matters, not when…"

"Not when you've got such good surprises in store for you? Not when I'm offering myself up as part of your dessert?" Britta smirked.

" _Yes,"_ Annie groaned, pulling Britta in for a passionate, sloppy kiss.

Britta interrupted it by grabbing and holding up another chocolate-covered strawberry. "Wanna split it?" she offered.

"Yeah," Annie nodded, and Britta whispered, with her best Cheshire cat grin, "Then come and get it, love," as she popped half of it into her mouth, holding it in place with her teeth without quite biting down on it.

For what felt like the 800th time, Annie thanked her lucky stars that the universe led her to Britta (and marveled for at least the 50th time that her girlfriend was an absolute fucking vixen), then surged forward and chomped down on the other half of the rich treat, savoring the bitterness of the dark chocolate and the sweetness of the strawberry before turning her considerable attention to Britta's lips. Annie lingered there for a bit before kissing her way down her jaw to her neck to her shoulders to her chest, with a keen eye on the different red hues: the bright, "look at me!" shade of Britta's lingerie, the semi-angry sucking and biting marks she's left with her teeth, and the lighter pink hue of strawberry juice trailing down Britta's breastbone to her stomach.

Normally, one of them would be dragging the other to the bedroom, or they'd be doing their handsy two-step in that direction, but Annie didn't want to move just yet and a wonderfully dirty idea popped into her head. She dropped to her knees to lick up the chocolate and strawberry stains she was leaving all over her girlfriend's body. She started kissing Britta's stomach and dipped her mouth lower to worship at the altar of her hips, planting lush kisses across her hip bones before dropping even further to bite her inner thighs. Britta whimpered, " _Fuck_ , Annie, this is _so hot_ ," and played with Annie's hair, pressing her hands insistently to the back of her head to keep her lips and tongue and teeth all on her skin.

"Can I get a taste of my dessert now, babe?" Annie begged, gazing up at her favorite person with unrestrained desire; she'll sometimes play the part of the saintly sinner or the alluring ingenue for Britta, but she loves that she can also lay her hunger bare for Britta to enjoy and be (pardon her French) a wanton slut for her when she's in the mood, too.

"N-not yet. Bedroom," Britta gasped. Anticipating Annie's potential refusal, she quickly expanded on that answer, panting her way through her explanation, "Only cause if you make me orgasm as hard as I think you're going to while I'm standing up, my legs will _totally_ give out and I don't wanna collapse on you."

"Can't argue with that logic," Annie admitted as she clambered to her feet, barely resisting the urge to kiss a path back up Britta's body and trace the spots she'd worshipped on the way down.

"Strip for me," Britta murmured once they'd moved to her bed, seconds after she'd pulled Annie into her arms and offered her a fierce volley of kisses.

"Making me work even more for my dessert when I've already got you insanely turned on? That's hardly charitable," Annie pouted.

"No, no, no, this is still _part of_ dessert. Gotta get all the senses involved," Britta corrected her with a wink. "And don't play coy. You fucking love having all my attention trained on you. Don't you, Annie?" she asked teasingly.

"Yes," Annie breathed, kissing Britta gently for a second before adding earnestly, "But can you blame me? I mean," she stared down her girlfriend's body in a way that was entirely objectifying, but Britta had a hard time being bothered by her gaze when Annie bit her lower lip and gushed, "Jesus, Britts, it's like I've got my own fucking porn star in my bedroom. No shit I want your eyes and your hands and your mouth all over me."

"How are you so sweet and so naughty all at once?" Britta wondered in amazement (not for the first time) as Annie shimmied out of her clothes.

"It's a gift," Annie replied smoothly as the two of them fell into each other like they'd done so many nights before, and Annie maintained some semblance of control just long enough to sing the outro of "I Get Down" in her head:

_Sedate me, excite me_

_Erase me, rewrite me_

_Remake me, delight me_

_Embrace me, I'm lightning_


	5. A/B Machines by Sleigh Bells

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a completely self-indulgent paintball chapter because I thought it’d be fun to write Annie and Britta as badass, gun-toting girlfriends. Set around the end of the semester/just before summer break in season 3.

"We have a _plan_ for the big paintball game at the end of the year," Dean Pelton announced to the study group. "I know you're all focused on preparing for exams right now, but I think it'll be a great way to relieve stress at the end of the semester. Plus, we've got some safeguards in place to make it better than ever!" he proclaimed.

"We're making sure there are no City College invaders?" Troy asked.

"We're doing more homages?" Abed wondered.

"We're bringing in hot cheerleaders?" Jeff suggested hopefully.

"Women don't exist solely for your misogynistic consumption, Jeff." Britta rolled her eyes.

"Troy, you're correct, and Abed, you're sort of on the right track, too. but that's not what I wanted to talk to you about right now. Although—eh, what the heck, let's start there," the Dean shrugged. "The reward is only a $100 Visa gift card, so it's not that big a deal. The theme is much more important. And it will be 1930s cops and robbers."

"We're splitting up into two different factions, then," Abed noted with interest.

"No, it's still every person for themselves," Dean Pelton answered patiently.

"If we're on the side of the police, will we have to bust up a speakeasy like they did in Prohibition times? And Will Troy or I have to worry about suffering from rampant racial discrimination or automatically being typecast as criminals?" Abed queried further.

The dean sighed. "I just want the fashion aesthetic, Abed, is that alright with you?! I don't need your unen- _dean_ list of television-related, socio-psychological questions!" He took a deep breath. "Sorry. Paintball always heightens tensions and puts everyone on edge, including yours truly," he apologized, then winked at Jeff. "And not to worry, mister fearless badass study group leader. We don't have the funds for cheerleaders, but I'm sure I could dig up a costume if you gave me a few minutes to look for one."

Annie, Shirley, and Britta collectively cringed at that.

"I'm not sure what's more alarming about your fashion choices, Dean: the ready access to a cheerleading outfit or the fact that you own a Hamburglar-inspired three-piece-suit," Jeff commented.

Annie and Shirley gave him a concerned look. "I find it rather alarming that _you_ know that, Jeffrey," Shirley answered him.

"Why's it alarming that Jeffrey would know intimate details about my life?" Dean Pelton countered.

Jeff groaned. "That mall trip I took to bail on helping Annie move in with Troy and Abed was _the worst._ Like, the Leonard of mall trips. I learned more about this guy than I ever needed to know."

"Be that as it may, we still sang karaoke together," Dean Pelton sighed fondly. "Anyway, to get to my point: our other students have noticed that the seven of you seem to be catalysts for extreme chaos during our annual paintball battles."

Annie squinted at him. "You realize you let the _entire student body_ have paintball guns and run amok on campus, right?"

"Yes, and it's quite the fun time, but there was the paint explosion in here a couple of years ago—"

"That was Chang!" Jeff and Britta angrily interrupted.

" _And_ the sexual misconduct on the table," the dean noted pointedly, making them shut up, then went on, "Not to mention, Troy rigged the sprinkler system to shoot paint everywhere last year, and the cleaning staff had to use a week's worth of overtime to restore the building back to normal. And, Shirley, you totaled one of the security team's golf carts."

"That was awesome, though," Troy reminisced with a grin, and Shirley fixed Dean Pelton with a bit of a glare as she replied, "May I remind you I helped save the school while I was riding that golf cart?"

"Your contributions are noted. However, given those past events, the rest of the students have requested that you all be split up, into groups no larger than three," he concluded. "You can break out into any permutations you want, though. And now I've gotta go—I'll need to see if I can find that cheerleading outfit."

Britta shouted at his retreating figure, "This is an invasion of our liberties and an assault on our freedoms. We have the right to peacefully assemble!"

Everyone groaned at that, even Annie, and Troy deadpanned, "Yeah, we're all _real_ peaceful during paintball, Britta."

She glared around the table and scoffed, "What, you think it ends with this one little declaration? It only _starts_ there, and then it's a slippery slope into extreme government oversight," she forecasted grimly. "First they'll get cameras to watch if we're staying apart, then they'll put shock collars on us, then Greendale gets reconstructed into the shape of a panoptipopcorn—pantpopticop…" she sighed and looked beseechingly at Annie for help.

"Is panopticon the word you're looking for, babe?" Annie asked with a small chuckle.

Britta triumphantly pointed at her girlfriend. "Yes! The structure where prisons are built in a circle with a guard tower in the middle. So prisoners can never know peace because someone might always be watching them."

Everyone groaned again, except Annie, who offered Britta a quick thumbs-up for remembering one of her study concepts, as she argued, "It's not my fault I'm the only one who got a spot in modern dystopian fiction this semester! I've been trying to add some extra little study sessions on top of what I already have on my schedule."

Jeff glanced at Britta, then at Annie, and smirked.

Annie narrowed her eyes at him. "What's that look for, Jeff?"

"You're convincing Britta to study outside of the group? And she is, in fact, following a _study schedule_?" he laughed, almost incredulously.

"Yep," she replied with a nod, "and I've been very proud of her for it." She shot Britta a shy smile.

"Annie's a good influence on me," Britta noted warmly, making her girlfriend beam, just before Jeff interjected, "Sure, Britta, I'm not disputing that point. You're both really good for each other. I'm just also saying Annie's got you totally whipped."

Britta answered defiantly, "As if!" and then looked around the table for support.

"Oh, come on," she laughed, "you're saying you all think Annie has me wrapped around her finger twenty-four seven?"

Crickets.

"Seriously?" Britta insisted. "You all have that much of a misconception about—"

She piped down once she spotted Annie holding up a finger to her lips, encouraging her to be quiet.

Jeff spread his arms out smugly and kicked his feet up on the table. "I love being right."

"Whatever, Winger," Britta scoffed. "I'm the one who gets to date her, so, your loss." She mimed dropping a mic as they all walked out of the room, to outsized "hype man on a rap album" reactions from Troy and Abed.

"It'll be _your_ loss after I kick your butt in paintball, Perry," Jeff called back, grinning.

"Don't worry, hon," Annie informed her confidently as the group splintered into different directions to head to classes or to leave campus. "We'll take him down."

Britta smirked at her. "Hell yeah we will, Annie. Gimme some fivesies!"

"Me-ga snake, ac-ti-vate!" Annie chanted as she joined Britta in her usual post high five dance, making her crack up.

In a community college positively stuffed to the gills with nerds and eccentric weirdos, Britta's in love with one of the biggest ones of all. And she wouldn't have it any other way.

**

Finals season brought its usual swirl of panicked studying to everyone in the group, though Britta could easily admit in her head, _"Buying into Annie's idea of making a study schedule helped reduce my stress compared to the last couple of years."_

Troy and Abed had engaged in similarly focused efforts, largely thanks to Annie's prompting, as well. That recognition caused Britta to suggest, during a study break the three of them were taking at Casa Trobedison, "I think we need to throw Annie a thank you party or something for helping to make finals less of a struggle for all of us." Britta had sort of unofficially relocated to apartment 303 for the week so everyone could hold her accountable for reviewing her psych notes for her final three tests.

"Sure, we could do that," Abed agreed.

Troy added on, "You should be a person of honor for the party, too, Britta."

She frowned. "Why's that? I haven't really done anything."

"You've helped Annie relax at least a little this year, more so than in the past," Troy replied. "She used to get crazy stressed during finals, like Hermione Granger in the third Harry Potter book when she was time-traveling to take her classes. Now she's a lot closer to regular Hermione Granger anxiety levels. And considering she's living with us now, that's really important for all our well-beings."

Abed commented, "Troy's observations track with my data points on our group's various coping methods during finals week. Annie has consumed at least three fewer cans of soda compared to last year at this time, and she's not the only one who's seen positive benefits. Troy and I have only stayed up past midnight to study twice as opposed to six times last year, and Jeff mentioned he's only made a couple of raids on his dessert cupboard."

"You know…" Britta considered how she'd endured exams last spring: by getting high, mostly. "Now that I think about it, I haven't really had to smoke weed much to handle my finals anxiety. I did one night last week before I had a day with no exams to get to sleep faster, but aside from that," she reflected, "I've been pretty okay."

Abed snapped his fingers suddenly and announced, "I've got it! How we can celebrate, that is." He pointed at both Troy and Britta and proposed, "Party after paintball? Party after paintball?"

Troy grinned and fist-bumped his boyfriend. "I'm in. Great idea, buddy."

"I'll be there, too," Britta nodded. "Good thinking, Abed."

As they started fleshing out the party plans in a little more detail, the door swung open, as Annie had returned from one of her own exams, and the three friends cheered, "Annie!"

"Hi, guys?" she answered a bit uncertainly at their oddly excited and warm response.

"We were just saying we wanna throw a party after paintball to celebrate the end of the year," Britta told her as she got off the couch and bounded over to her. "Plus as a thank you to, well, you. For helping us get our collective shit together with studying. And, speaking of, I have a psych quiz question to run by you."

"Okay," Annie nodded. "Here, we can go into my room, I need to put my backpack down anyway." Once she'd gotten settled, she asked, "What do you need help with, babe?"

Britta's mouth turned up into a devilish grin. "Nothing," she murmured as she half-pushed, half-pulled Annie onto her bed. "I just wanted to kiss your face."

Annie giggled and smiled against Britta's lips before whispering, "I'll take this as a welcome home from an exam any day."

"Good," Britta answered. "And I hope your hospital admin test went well, but I kinda don't wanna talk about it right now."

"Right there with you on that," Annie replied happily as she stretched and curled up against her girlfriend, letting the tension drain out of her shoulders as she relaxed in Britta's arms.

**

"Hey, Abed, thanks for the tips on designing an authentic 1930s bank robber outfit," Annie called from her room as she started getting dressed for the paintball battle.

"Sure thing," he called back. "It probably would've been more realistic to have this game set in the 1920s, back when banks would've been worth robbing, before the Great Depression, but that's more of a Jazz Age scene, and I'm not sure how it would've worked for paintball, and…"

His voice trailed off, and Annie guessed, with a little laugh to herself, _"Troy probably started kissing Abed to keep him from outlining a whole other paintball scenario that could've played out. Not like I haven't done that with Britta. A lot."_

Aside from getting used to the whole new "having a fabulous girlfriend" experience, one of Annie's favorite developments over the past year or so—even before she'd officially come out and before she'd started dating Britta—was how far she'd progressed in accepting herself.

Between her family's thinly veiled homophobia and society's general bent toward showing heterosexuality as an ideal norm, Annie had struggled with embracing her sexuality in a world where being Jewish was reason enough to be seen as an "other."

" _And now I'm shamelessly wondering about what outfit Abed helped Britta pick out for this paintball battle,"_ she reflected.

Fortunately, she didn't have too long to wonder, as she, Troy, and Abed got their weapons loaded and then rode over to school. The two boys had chosen to play the cop role.

"We were rebels last time," Abed explained, "so I felt like this offered a foil. And since Troy played a more buttoned-up leader and I was Han, he'll be the bad cop, and I'll be the good one."

"Thanks, Partner," Troy answered, duffing an invisible cap toward Abed.

Abed gave him a nod. "No problem, Houlihan."

Annie frowned at Abed. "Your cop name is Partner?"

"Troy thought of it," he responded proudly. "It's a good pun, right?"

Annie couldn't help but laugh at their hijinks as they entered the study room, and then gasp when she saw Britta. Or, more specifically, Britta's outfit: a black waistcoat with a white button down blouse under it, black high-waisted trousers, and a red fedora. She hoped her staring wasn't too obvious, but then Britta smirked, gestured down her body, and mouthed, "You like?" as Jeff and Shirley arrived.

Annie nodded, blushing furiously. Under the guise of discussing strategy, Britta came over to her and whispered, "I'll have to dress like this more often if it gets such a rise out of you, Annie."

Annie's face flushed an even deeper crimson, and she was glad to see Jeff remain standing to deliver a classic Winger speech before the battle began.

"This is going to be a bit of a different war compared to years past, as friends become foes. Or at least, friends turn into non-allies," Jeff noted. "However, if Shirley or I can't emerge victorious from the paint-splattered wreckage, we hope one of you will. As always, we will fight with dignity, honor, and a little bit of insanity. Because this...is not a game." He paused dramatically, then proclaimed, "This…"

"Is paintball," the rest of them echoed solemnly.

Jeff smiled at the call and response. "Good luck to all of you. Oh, and happy summer! This is quite the way to kick it off. See you all tonight at Troy, Abed, and Annie's place for the party." He offered everyone a quick salute as they filtered out of the study room and into war.

**

"How are we playing this?" Britta murmured to Annie as they crept through the library and up the stairs toward the science lab, Annie's old hideout from last year's Wild West game.

"Controlled aggression. With the Dean announcing that we're split into groups, I wouldn't be shocked if some of the other factions try to target us out of spite," she answered as they climbed the stairs and tiptoed down the hall, taking out a couple of randos along the way. "We can't take quite as many risks without backup."

As if on cue, the Chess Club and Math Club contingencies lumbered toward them as they approached the lab. Annie and Britta quickly ducked behind a corner, and Annie risked a glance out to scout the enemies.

"There's four or five guys total," she whispered. "I think they've teamed up, I don't hear any fighting. We should get outta here."

"Just a sec," Britta muttered, retrieving something small, round, and purple from a bag she'd attached to her holster belt.

"What's that?" Annie asked, eyeing her girlfriend with intrigue.

Britta pulled it out of the bag, held it up quickly, and grinned. "Paint-filled balloon. There's no rule against grenades, right?"

"Not that I know of. Good thinking, babe," Annie complimented her.

"Figure this could take at least a couple of 'em out," Britta whispered as she chucked it in the group's general direction. She and Annie fist-pumped when they heard screams of, "I've been hit!"

"I think it came from over there," one of the others shouted, pointing in Annie and Britta's direction.

They shared a look that said, "Time to go."

"Let's make a break for the ground floor," Britta panted as they ran down the hallway, skidding to a halt in front of the door to the back staircase and yanking it open together.

After they'd descended a couple of floors and exchanged a few rounds of ineffective fire with the Math Club contingency, Britta glanced up and noted with worry, "They're gaining on us." Annie turned around on the next landing, stopped, and demanded, "Gimme your gun." Britta complied, then asked, confused, "Why, is yours not working?"

"Do you trust me?" Annie answered in return. "And are you okay with some non-feminist behavior?"

"Duh doy," Britta assented to her first question, then frowned at the second. "Wait, wh—"

Annie balled the front of Britta's shirt up with her free hand and tugged her into a desperate kiss, backing up against the wall for leverage so she could hitch her right leg up and hook her thigh around Britta.

The heavy footfalls of the enemies giving chase stopped as they surveyed the scene, with Britta gasping into Annie's mouth in shock at being pulled into a hungry makeout session.

" _Cool,"_ the two guys breathed out, and Annie took advantage of their dazed states to blast both of them with paintball bullets.

"That's what you get for being filthy perverts," she declared, and Britta yelled, "Suck it, losers!" once she recovered her poise.

One of them snatched at a radio, seemingly ready to alert the rest of their squad to Annie and Britta's location.

"Per Greendale paintball rules, you're already dead, so good luck using that," Britta taunted.

"So what?" one of them sneered.

Annie stepped out of Britta's grasp, dashed closer to the fallen man, cocked her gun, and threatened him, in a low, deadly voice, "Call for backup and you'll be washing the taste of paint outta your mouth for a week."

"You're bluffing," he huffed.

Annie gritted her teeth, adjusted her grip on her gun, and pointed it closer to his face, then whispered, staring daggers at him, "Try me. I fucking _dare_ you." He dropped the radio and put his hands up in surrender.

"That's what I thought," Annie nodded in approval. She motioned at Britta to book it down the stairs, kept her gun trained on the enemy as she slowly descended backwards down the steps, then turned around and ran herself.

"I already knew I liked it when you're aggressive, but, um...wow," Britta murmured admiringly, giving Annie a breathless, adrenaline-tinged kiss once they finished their escape. "That was something else, Annie."

She gave a happy shrug. "All's fair in love and paintball, and this is," she leaned in for another kiss from Britta, "a little of both. Let's try scoping out the cafeteria or maybe the lounge."

Britta nodded. "Sounds good."

They took things slow, avoiding pin-down areas, sniping opponents patiently, and making judicious use of Britta's homemade grenades. They caught sight of the others from the study group a few times, but they weren't close enough to engage. Eventually, though, Annie and Britta got backed into the auditorium by some of the drama kids, plus Troy and Abed. They sought cover behind chairs, first, and then on stage, using a handful of set environments and the lectern for makeshift barriers.

"I think this might be the end of the line," Annie commented sadly.

"Maybe not," Britta murmured, her eyes flitting around the stage until she zoomed in on what she'd been searching for.

"You trust me?" she asked Annie, in an echo of her own earlier question.

"Of course, Britta," Annie nodded.

"Alright, then. I think I've got us a way out of here," Britta whispered. She glanced down and then told Annie, "Move a few feet to your right, hon."

"Is here good?" Annie wondered as she returned fire to a crowd of opponents and crawled behind cover.

Britta checked their positioning once more and confirmed, "Yep," then smoothly cocked her gun, took aim at a red button on the wall on stage right, and shot it.

The stage's trapdoor popped up—unseen to the other people in the auditorium behind the mess of half-built sets—and Britta quickly started descending the ladder.

Annie gaped at her in amazement. "How'd you think of that? How'd you even know this was a thing?"

"I remembered seeing it from when Troy and I did our dance recital, and I explored it with a couple of other people from the class," she answered.

"Where does it let out?" Annie asked as they started navigating the tunnel.

"Right by the back exit. There's another trapdoor there, but I don't think many people know about it. We should be able to escape without attracting too much attention," Britta replied.

"Great plan, babe," Annie complimented her.

For a minute, it seemed like they'd pulled it off, as they popped open the trapdoor backstage and then snuck out of the auditorium.

And then they got hit with a mix of green and yellow paintballs.

"You thought you could use the ol' underground escape trick, didn't you?" Abed gloated, triumphantly "smoking" on a candy cigarette. "Didn't count on the feds being on your tail, didja?"

"How'd you guys know about that?" Britta pouted.

"Pavel showed us once freshman year when we were exploring campus," Troy explained, then turned to Abed. "Never thought that would come in handy for paintball. Good thinking to come 'round back of the auditorium once they stopped giving fire, Partner."

"Thanks for reminding me of that secret passage, Houlihan," Abed replied graciously before initiating their special handshake.

"Ah, well. If we had to be taken out by anyone, I'm glad it was you two," Annie complimented them, and Britta added, "Thanks for only shooting us a couple times each and not totally ruining our clothes. _Someone_ really likes this outfit," she turned her gaze on Annie, making her blush, "so I want to add the blouse and pants, at least, to my closet full-time."

"Both your getups are pretty dope," Troy observed as he and Abed started walking toward another fray, and Abed called back, "We'll catch up with you later!" just before they got into a shootout with Jeff and Shirley, who had dashed out of the back of the auditorium, as well.

"Good luck!" Annie and Britta chorused.

"You wanna stay and watch to see who wins?" Britta asked.

"Nah," Annie answered, taking Britta's hand into her own and leaning against her with a mischievous grin on her face. "I think they're all still gonna be a while, which means we'll have apartment 303 to ourselves. So…"

Britta caught her wavelength and interrupted her, saying, "Let's get outta here." She started jogging toward the main parking lot, where her car was, with her favorite girl fast on her heels.


	6. Mason Jar by K.Flay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Brittannie AU lives! I got a little burnt out on it, plus I got invested in other Community stories/pairings, had real life happen, had Bly Manor rip my heart out, etc. This wasn't initially how I'd planned to finish this story--the mixtape concept is more of an EP now--but this hit me as a better stopping point than what I'd originally outlined. I'm excited to start the final 2 stories that will more or less complete/wrap up this AU.

Some of Annie's favorite moments with Britta come when they're settled on the fringes of time, during late nights or early mornings, when most of the world's asleep.

Like this morning, when Britta slinks out of bed, retrieves her bowl from her bag, and lights up on the fire escape.

Annie's still half-asleep, but she's heard the routine enough by now-the tell-tale metal creaking, the barely-there hiss of the lighter as Britta sparks it to life-to know it's happening. She glances out at her girlfriend, clad in her athletic shorts and one of her many Greendale sweatshirts. They'd started wearing each other's pajamas at some point within the last six months or so, after Britta forgot to bring hers over one night, and Annie hopes that newly developed ritual never stops.

Normally, she's content to lay in bed for a bit, especially this early, as a glance at her alarm clock reveals it's not quite 8 yet. But the innate knowledge that gloriously sunny and crisp mornings like this will fade soon, as the calendar tumbles through September, urges her to stir.

She's no filmmaker, but she's gotten into photography a bit, thanks to Abed, since he takes still shots once in a while. She recalls what he'd once told her, about one of his philosophies as a director: "If a compelling moment's gone once it exists, I might as well try my best to capture it."

And the sight of Britta sitting on the fire escape, with sunlight falling across her face and tendrils of smoke rising out of her mouth as she exhales?

Yeah, Annie wants to preserve that in amber, catch it in a mason jar. So she slowly extracts herself from the covers, creeps over toward her dresser, picks up her camera, and angles herself to get shots of Britta's profile.

Britta turns toward her the tiniest bit at the noise of the camera shutter, a hint of a smile playing on her lips as she glances up and blows out another smoke cloud.

"Morning, darlin." Her slow, throaty early-riser voice drips out like Hershey's chocolate syrup, and her grin's in full bloom as she extends her hand toward Annie in a lazy invitation.

Annie accepts. She navigates a tightrope of vices these days-smoking, once in a while; outward validation, still too often; Britta, always-and she's learned it's okay to fall apart once in a while, to admit she needs help. She manages her sins, doesn't let them grow roots the way her Adderall addiction once did. Aside from her ever-burgeoning affection for her girlfriend; she's more than happy to let that bloom into a full-blown garden, and it feels so good that she sometimes wonders if she's stumbled into a timeline untethered from reality, manifested by the Dreamatorium.

She doesn't inhale all the way. They're going apple-picking with the boys this afternoon, and she once learned the hard way that being too high in a moving car freaks her out. Plus, she'd rather not worry about her fingers turning clumsy while she's still clutching her camera.

She stretches her arm out, squinting a smile into the early morning sun as Britta gradually leans into her, moving ever so slowly to avoid turning blurry in the photos. And then Britta's got her left arm slung over her shoulder and her right hand is tenderly cupping Annie's jawline. There's a name for what she does, how she'd rather contemplate her subject rather than the camera, but the technical term floats away from Annie like the cloud of smoke she's blowing out as Britta presses a gentle kiss to her cheek.

"You know," Britta comments as they lazily lean against each other to drink in the sight of the city gradually coming to life, "when I woke up, it felt like today was gonna be a good one."

Annie nods against her in agreement. "I saw you and it felt...right. Taking your picture. Coming out here. Like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. In a perfectly framed scene."

Britta grins. "Smoking weed on a fire escape with your girlfriend in the early morning...that's a pretty damn good first page to a chapter, if a day is a chapter in the book of life."

Annie's half-tempted to make a joke about Britta waxing philosophical while she's stoned, but it'll add sharpness to a moment that doesn't need it, so instead, she just replies, "I like the page we're on."

"Me too, babe." Britta kisses her automatically and she'll take that rush over any drug, any time. "Me too."

**

There's no chaos in store for the four of them, for once, as the day unfolds. Just fun. A sing-along to the sundry styles of one of their "Trobrittabedison" mix CDs on the drive out to the orchard. For fairness, they'd each gotten to select four songs, creating an eclectic mix of Troy's grab-bag of jazz and rap, Britta's 80s and 90s alt rock, Abed's film scores, and Annie's indie pop, "interspersed evenly for the most equitable listening experience," as Abed had explained when he'd made the suggestion of burning a mix in the first place.

Annie's never heard of four friends and two couples forming a "love square" before, but she kinda feels like that's what's happened. Between the group dinners they'd started having, and then, obviously, her and Britta getting together, they've formed a sort of mini found family within the study group itself.

And when Britta occasionally links hands with Troy or Abed just as easily as she does during their apple-picking adventure, or when they walk to the nearby bakery for donuts, Annie can't be bothered to care if anyone looks at them strangely.

She does still have a bit of possessiveness to her, though, and appreciates the moments when Troy and Abed split off to pick Empire apples while she and Britta grab Galas for potential pie-making. She appreciates, even more, how often Abed snaps pictures of them, how he seems to know she wants as much of the day recorded as possible, how he crafts intimate photos and videos without intruding on them.

The day zooms by, spurred along by a spur of the moment decision to try their hand at escaping the enormous corn maze that sits next to the orchard, but also freezes in certain moments.

If the universe is telling Annie to relish the day, to love her friends, to love her girlfriend, she's certainly not going to ignore it.

" _I could say that I've felt this good before, on a Saturday in September,"_ she thinks contentedly at the end of the day, under her covers and under the cover of darkness, _"but that would be a lie. A massive lie."_

So she tells Britta, with soft kisses and a hushed tone, "Thank you for a wonderful day, Britts."

"You make a lot of them like that, yourself, Annie. You make them worth savoring," Britta whispers, her voice heavy with sleep.

"You too, darling," Annie answers, and try as she might, she can't extend the day any longer. But at the same time, letting it die feels good, in a way. Knowing she'll wake next to Britta tomorrow. She'll take that for as long as she can get it.

She might just take that forever, if she can get it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Annie's mixtape to Britta, I tried to go with a mix of songs she'd like that she'd guess Britta would also enjoy. Full track listing by chapter:
> 
> Punk Rock Princess by Something Corporate  
> Kiss Me Like It's Christmas by This Century  
> Candy By Paolo Nutini  
> I Get Down by Esthero  
> A/B Machines by Sleigh Bells  
> Mason Jar by K.Flay (the instrumental is from Out Getting Ribs by King Krule/Zoo Kid)


End file.
